


All of This & What it Means

by lucdarling (orphan_account)



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-16
Updated: 2012-04-16
Packaged: 2017-11-03 19:03:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/384809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/lucdarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a joint mission, in-and-out in literal paradise. Feelings are not going to get the outcome achieved but Clint's having a little trouble turning them off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All of This & What it Means

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written anonymously for [this prompt](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/1854.html?thread=345662#t345662) on October 31, 2011.

Clint liked working with the Avengers Initiative and being part of a team of people that were also good at their job, but it was nice to be offered an escape from the madhouse that was six superheroes under one roof. He and Natasha were currently sitting in first class on a plane, surrounded by civilians and playing the part of newlyweds on the way to their honeymoon. It wasn't hard to keep his hands off his occasional bed partner and Clint smirked as he laid a hand on her knee.

“Enjoying yourself, lover?” He leaned over, pressing his lips against her temple while he snuck a covert look at their target's file on the laptop in front of Natasha. She gave him a small smile in return, tapping keys quickly to bring up a satellite map of the city when Clint laid his head on her shoulder.

“More than you know,” Natasha responded dryly, bringing her left hand up to admire the ring. The small diamond glints in the light.

Clint took her hand in his. “You want one of your own?” The words slipped out of their own accord and he didn't know if he was grateful or sad when the woman scoffed. Clint sat back up as the flight attendants came around to collect their trash from the in-flight meal and shortly after, the pilot's voiceover announced they were cleared for landing. 

Disembarking was a laborious process with all the civilians shuffling and nearly stepping over one another. Clint admired Natasha's perfected look of boredom but bounced on the balls of his feet in the customs line until a sharp elbow stopped him. Their new passports from S.H.I.E.L.D. saw Carey and Nancy Morrison through the airport and in line for a taxi at the small airport Fiji boasted.

Clint opened the car door for Natasha, grinning brightly when her manicured nails dug into the back of his hand before she slid in gracefully. “Who says chivalry is dead?” he quipped, turning his head to take in sand that wasn't in a desert for once in his life. Their cab driver laughed from the front seat when Natasha sidled closer to him under their guise of newlyweds.

The hotel room was small and clean – S.H.I.E.L.D. was paying for it, after all. Clint didn't mind and unpacked their carry-on bags, laying everything out on the white comforter. He put their clothes on the right side, weapon parts on the left. Natasha quickly assembled the array of ceramic knives that she'd put in her toiletry kit and used one to rip out the bag's stitching so she could retrieve the coil of wire in the lining. Clint changed into his swim trunks when Natasha stepped into the bathroom, mentally thanking their mark for choosing Fiji as a vacation spot. He put the ring on the nightstand and two of the knives in a specially made sleeve in his trunks.

Clint whistled appreciatively as Natasha walked out of the hotel bathroom. She looked killer in the green bikini, no pun intended. His smirk widened at her glare. They made their way to the beach, Natasha slipping her hand in his as they walked along the sand in silence, scoping out the terrain and civilians surrounding them. A soft squeeze told Clint that Natasha had spotted their mark, a weapons dealer with ties to the Ten Rings organization. They strolled past the man and his poorly disguised bodyguards, setting a towel on the sand not far away. Natasha laid out on her stomach, face turned towards the group while Clint headed down to the water. 

The bright blue water was lapping at his waist before he turned around to look at the beach-goers. It was easy to spot his partner's red hair on the white sand, and the group of men just a little ways from her. Clint swam a little for appearance's sake before returning to Natasha. She relayed what information she'd been able to overhear and lip read as she stretched her long limbs out; Clint wished she was doing the same acrobatics on his bed and worked on not glaring at the mark who was blatantly staring. That was the point, after all.

Natasha headed to the water and Clint clenched his jaw as the mark followed her as planned. He watched as the assassin got closer and twisted the towel's edge in his fist.

“Don't tell me you were jealous,” Natasha said incredulously when they reached the privacy of their room. Clint stayed silent, stripping off his water-logged swimming gear and stepping into the shower. The glass door was opened less than a minute later, Natasha following him under the warm spray. “In case you forgot,” she leaned against his chest, “we are here on a job, Barton, not a holiday.” Clint shook his head in acknowledgement and looked down at her hand. She was still wearing the prop ring from their flight, which meant she'd put it on after getting back to their room. 

Instead of drawing attention to it, he dipped his head, skimming his lips across her throat before picking a point and sucking just short of drawing a bruise. Natasha's arms came around him, stroking down his spine as she tilted her head back for better access. Clint nipped lightly at the corded muscle, groaning into her neck when one of her hands wrapped around his half-hard shaft and stroked him to fullness. The ring was skin-warm on his heated flesh though the sensation stopped registering in his brain when Natasha sunk to her knees and took him in her mouth. Clint braced his arms on the tile wall, water beating down on his back as she licked and sucked. The wet sound her mouth made when she let him go and spill over her hand was hardly heard over the running shower, but the groan of release was loud in the small room. Natasha patted his thigh before she rose to reach over him and began to wash her hair. Clint gaped at her rather stupidly for the time it took her to clean herself off from the ocean's salt and followed her from the stall when she turned the water off. 

He didn't let her get far ahead of him, drawing Natasha into his arms and a deep kiss that she returned quickly. “You need anything from me?” he questioned softly, knowing that she had her own routine before she consciously took yet another life.

“Not now,” Natasha replied, twisting the rings around her finger. “The mark wants me to have dinner with him across the city in an hour. I can get him to walk with me in the nearby gardens, if you want to be in position there.”

Clint looked down at her hands and the stone that sparkled in the dim lamp light. “You don't have to wear them here,” he told her softly. “They were just for the plane and again when we exit-” He stopped talking when Natasha reached up to press the hand against his cheek.

“You don't get to decide what I do or what I wear, Clint,” she informed him bluntly, twisting the ring around to press the cold stone against his cheekbone. “That includes jewelry.” The man nodded his head in agreement because no one except Fury and occasionally Coulson could tell Natasha to do anything. “Get ready to leave,” she ordered gently and Clint was reminded of their joint wetwork missions before they found S.H.I.E.L.D. as she turned away to the clothes still laid out on the bed.

Clint dressed in all black, pulling his bow from the disguised camera bag. He assembled and strung it as Natasha pulled her hair back and then let it hang loose again before pulling the red locks into a tight bun at the nape of her neck and then did her make up. She pulled on a deep green knee length dress, sliding knives in the catches of the reinforced garters. Clint watched her set the rings on the nightstand before slipping on a pair of flat shoes. He met her blank eyes with a short nod as he picked up his quiver and closed the hotel room door behind them.

Dinner went well, as far as Clint could tell from his position on some convenient scaffolding across the street. He watched as Natasha tucked her arm through the mark's arm, laughing lightly at whatever it was he said. They turned at the end of the street, walking into the gardens and Clint moved to shadow them, a few steps behind the bodyguards. He waited until the bodyguards had settled against the trees near the entrance and then took aim. One, two hulking men dropped heavily to the ground, arrows protruding from their chest.

“Two guards down,” he murmured to the underbrush he hid them in, momentarily forgetting that he and Natasha were not wearing comms. He shook his head and moved forward to trace the steps of the remaining two guards between him and Natasha. Clint drew back as he caught sight of them, only a few feet behind the target and Natasha. He notched another arrow, hands steady as he drew back the string. Natasha had stopped, stepping closer to the target with his hand in both of hers as she spoke to him. Clint watched as she slipped her hands up to the mark's shoulders and down his back as he kissed her, hand reaching under his jacket for the gun that records said he kept there. 

The guards turned warily to the strange female kissing their boss and Clint stopped waiting; the one reaching for his gun dropped with a choked cry. The mark pushed Natasha off him as the second bodyguard drew his weapon. She quickly blocked his open-handed slap and leapt up, straddling his head with her thighs in what Clint thought was her favorite move in her entire martial arts arsenal. The Ten Rings associate grunt was loud in the quiet garden as he fell, Natasha quickly pinning him face down in the dirt. Clint's second arrow took care of the gun-toting guard who had held his fire for too long. He watched from the path as Natasha unrolled the bracelet she'd made from the garroting wire and placed it around the target's neck. She knelt over him, pulling on the cord until his body stopped moving. Clint had already dragged the guard's bodies out of the main pathway and helped Natasha hide the still-warm dead weight.

Natasha smoothed her dress and wrapped the bloody wire around her wrist as they walked back to the hotel in silence. Clint let her enter the room first, securing the door with the flimsy bolt and chain before Natasha pushed him against the wall. She crowded him, breasts pushed against his chest as her hands unzipped his lightweight jacket. He looked down at her with a grin.

“We did good tonight, Tasha,” Clint said softly, hands resting on her shoulders before moving up to cup her head. He was pleased to see her brown eyes no longer blank from earlier and stroked his thumb across her bottom lip before his mouth crashed down on hers. The kiss was deep and wet and dirty, filled with adrenaline from the hunt and the success of the mission.

His hands found the zipper on the back of her green dress and he paused to unhook the clasp of her bra by feel. They broke the kiss briefly when she drew his shirt over his head. Clint let his pants fall to his feet as Natasha removed the remodeled garter and let it drop to the floor. The green fabric fell from her ankles when Clint lifted her up, spinning her around so her back was against the wall. Natasha drew him into another kiss, her hands gripping Clint's shoulders as she slid down onto the sheathed cock. He thrust up, one hand on her lower back to hold her to him and the other tight on her hip. They moved together at a rapid pace, soft groans and the sound of skin on skin the only noise in the room.

Clint paused their movements to pull Natasha tighter against him before he took a step back from the wall. It was a minor miracle he didn't trip on his pants as he stepped out of them, no thanks to Natasha's mouth tracing the shell of his ear. He lowered her to the bed a few steps away, guiding himself back between her legs seconds later that drew a pleased sound from her. Clint rocked into her, the pace not much slower than before. Natasha cried out as he tilted her hips for a change in angle and Clint came in four more thrusts.

He tied off the condom and tossed it in the trash can while Natasha moved further up the bed. Clint followed her up the mattress, hand holding her thigh on the bed as he knelt in front of her. Natasha pulled her other leg against her chest as he leaned down and licked a wide stroke upwards. Clint grinned as her hand moved between gripping his hair and touching herself, bumping his nose against the finger she had on her clit more than once while he continued his ministrations. He used his tongue to trace letters, spelling out words and barely dipping into the wetness in front of him while Natasha's nails scratched at his scalp. She drew his face further against her with her thighs and Clint laughed in response, which garnered an interesting full-body shiver from the woman. He went back to using the flat of his tongue, licking Natasha several more times before sealing his mouth over her clit. He sucked at the bundle of nerves, flicking it with his tongue lightly as he pushed two fingers in and crooked them up. Her thighs tightened further when his fingers found her sweet spot and Natasha came with no more than a sigh. Clint licked at her as her body trembled, only stopping when she pulled at his hair. He leaned up to kiss her, her wetness smearing between his chin and hers as their mouths connected.

Natasha pulled back minutes later, pushing Clint off her and heading into the bathroom on silent feet. Clint relaxed and grinned at the ceiling fan that was turning lazily. The toilet flushed, the sink ran for a while and Natasha returned to the bed soon after, placing the knives on the table as she passed by.

“We've got six hours until we need to be at the airport, Carey,” she said his cover name like it was a disease and looked at the bedside clock instead of Clint's eyes. He rolled onto his side to look at her, twining his fingers through her red hair.

“I wasn't asking you to marry me, Nancy.” he commented quietly, false name sharp on his tongue.

“I'm not the marrying type,” Natasha replied shortly. Clint growled at those words, running his free hand over his face before speaking.

“I really wasn't asking you to,” he stressed. “You know I'm shit at this sort of thing.”

“Not like I'm much better,” Natasha spoke tonelessly to the ceiling, fingers twisting the rings round and round again. “This,” she motioned to the space between their bodies before swallowing. “It's good and fun but there's no use in getting attached. Look at what we do, Clint.” The sweep of her hand pointed to his bow leaning against the wall, her knives on the dresser and the piles of discarded clothes on the floor. 

“Come here, sweetheart,” Clint said softly, pulling her unresisting body against his. He knew she sometimes got like this after a job, but it had been a while since the woman had given voice to the emotions. Clint ran a hand down her side soothingly, other hand stroking through her hair until she fell asleep curled against him.

They awoke almost together in the morning, Natasha's hand on his chest and Clint's arm wrapped over her waist. He smirked at their position, pressing his morning wood against her leg. Natasha rolled her eyes and got out of bed. Clint yawned lazily as she pulled on clothes and disassembled the knives to hide away. She threw his shirt and pants at him as she stalked into the bathroom.

“Get dressed, Barton.” she called from the other room. “I'm going to wipe everything down in ten minutes.” He hurried, taking apart his bow in quick movements and storing it in the bag. She met him at the door and he slung an arm over her shoulders.

“Ready to be newlyweds one last time?” he questioned with a grin, dropping a quick kiss to the top of her head because he could. She walked out out of the room in lieu of answering.

The flight back to the States was long and uneventful. Natasha slipped the rings off as soon as the plane reached cruising altitude and Clint nodded, storing them away in a pocket. They worked on their reports during the layover, foots tangling under the table where few noticed. 

The duo handed in their report to Coulson when they finally reached HQ. Clint hung back after Natasha left, withdrawing the rings and placing them on the agent's desk. Coulson raised an eyebrow.

“No reason to keep them,” Clint said and left the office.


End file.
